But to my surprise, instead of backing off, Amaris and Silas grew even more brazen.
A few days later, Silas began flaunting his newfound authority, moving around the house like he owned it.
The old storage cabinet stood against the wall, a silent reminder of my father’s legacy.
Inside were the tools my father had used throughout his life, tools of his craft.
My father had been a well-known shadow puppeteer in the surrounding villages.
It was his exceptional craftsmanship that had earned him a fortune envied by many.
But after my marriage, a tragic accident had sent him tumbling into a ditch.
From that moment on, my health mysteriously worsened and my position in this house diminished with each passing day.
"This useless junk is nothing but an eyesore," Silas muttered, his brow furrowing as he reached for the cabinet, determined to drag it away.
"Don’t—" I had barely begun to speak when a loud crash ripped through the silence.
The cabinet toppled, sending my father’s shadow puppet figures scattering across the floor.
Even the lanterns, his most prized possessions, were shattered into countless fragments.